


Winter

by vodkasam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Gen, Sad, Seasonal Affective Disorder, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:48:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkasam/pseuds/vodkasam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first day of Dean's Seasonal Affective Disorder hits him hard. Sam and Castiel are there to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time doing anything like this! It was based off a request I received on my Tumblr, and I hope I did alright. Let me know what you think!

It was quiet in the bunker when Sam came in. He’d been out for an evening jog, and he had kind of expected Dean to be blasting classic rock in the kitchen and making spaghetti liked they had planned. Things don’t always go the way they’re supposed to in Winchester world, though, so Sam wasn’t too freaked. 

He could hear the low buzz of the TV in the next room. “Dean!” he called.

“Yeah,” came the reply.

“I’m gonna shower, okay? Dinner after?”

“Yeah,” Dean said again. 

“You gonna start the pasta, or you want me to?”

“I will. Just give me a minute.”

“Okay,” Sam said, disappearing around the corner. He took his time in the shower, allowing Dean time to catch up with dinner and giving himself time to jack off under the warm stream of water. Sweat and semen washed down the drain, and Sam toweled off in front of the mirror. He took a minute to admire his thick calves, his strong arms… His stomach rumbled. 

Sam gave his hair another rough scrub with the towel and started to put clothes on. He was in for the night, so pajama bottoms and a light hoodie would do. He padded back out to the kitchen, but the light was still off.

“Dean?”

No reply. He walked back to the living space to find his big brother on the couch, cocooned under a tan, fuzzy blanket watching Dr. Sexy. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, knowing what this meant. 

Dean was curled up tightly, his head propped up against the armrest. He looked almost ill. His eyes were half-lidded, staring through the television, and Sam felt his stomach spring into his chest. 

Sam walked around to where Dean was facing and crouched down. “Hey,” he murmured, putting a big hand on Dean’s shoulder. “S’it happening again?”

Dean blinked slowly and nodded. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

“Okay,” Sam said, a sad smile on his lips. “It’s okay. You hungry?”

Dean nodded. 

“Hmm, anything particular you want?”

Dean shrugged. He just wanted to be left alone, and Sam could sense that. 

“Not talkative today, are we?” Sam’s attempt to lighten the situation fell flat at Dean’s lack of response. Not that Sam was surprised. “Alright,” he said, pushing off his knees to stand. “I’ll see what I can whip up.”

Sam couldn’t resist running a hand through Dean’s hair on his way out. Maybe Sam was crazy - that would be the only explanation, of course - but he could have sworn Dean leaned into his touch. 

Sam flipped the light on in the kitchen and muttered a quick prayer to Castiel to watch out for Dean. Sam was just reaching into the cabinet for a pan when the angel appeared next to him in the kitchen. 

“Whoa, Cas, hey.”

“Sam. What is the matter?”

“Shh,” Sam whispered, hushing Castiel’s aggressive tone. 

“Is Dean ill? I could not sense anything other than a heavy tiredness.”

“It’s not a physical illness,” Sam explained as he moved around the kitchen. “Every year when the seasons change, Dean gets… irritable. It’s called Seasonal Affective Disorder. He doesn’t have a lot of energy even though he eats nonstop. It makes him really tired, and he has trouble focusing and getting things done. This is just a thing with Dean. It’s almost every year, no matter how we try to avoid it. This is just a bad day.”

Castiel tilted his head, processing the information Sam had given him.

“We came back to the bunker, and the weather had been nice, especially for November. But…” Sam trailed off. “I guess the sun hasn’t been out much, and Dean’s body doesn’t adjust well to that. It makes him change for a little while. It’s supposed to last a long time, but with him, he just kind of has to get his bearings again, I guess.”

“What should we do?” Castiel asked. 

“Turn the lights on,” Sam sighed. “He’ll turn them back off, but you have to keep turning them on. Feed him. Keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s showering, that he’s not falling off the edge. Pull him back if he gets close. Let him know we’re here, that we care. Mostly just be there and keep the lights on.”

Castiel nodded and looked as though he was about to disappear. 

“Cas, wait!”

Castiel turned back to Sam. 

“Be gentle with him.” 

Castiel disappeared then and reappeared at the side of his Dean Winchester. He stood silently, evaluating, calculating, and thinking. Sam was right; Dean was not physically injured, but there was a deep hurt ingrained into him. 

“Dean,” Castiel tried. 

“Cas?” Dean asked, but he didn’t move. 

“Yes, it’s me,” Castiel answered, taking a few steps to the left so he could sit next to the place Dean’s feet rested. “I understand you are not feeling like yourself right now,” Castiel said, “but I care for you regardless.”

Dean snorted. “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“Do not pretend for me,” Castiel commanded. His voice was firm, but not unkind. “I know you inside and out. I know you are not alright.” 

Dean was silent, so Castiel reached out and took his hand. Dean wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s hand, and the angel felt a warmth in his chest. They sat silently, Dean yearning for sleep, and Castiel watching over his charge. 

A few minutes passed. Sam came in, his feet quiet on the wood floor. He carried with him a small blue plate with four triangles of grilled cheese on it and a small glass of water. He set the food on the coffee table in front of Dean, who still hadn’t moved, even to let go of Castiel’s hand. Sam allowed himself a smile at that.

“Cas, help me get him up?”

Dean gave a soft groan of protest as his soul mate and his angel helped him to sit up. Sam quickly sat down where Dean’s head had been, partly to keep him propped up and partly to prevent him from lying down again.

Dean reached tiredly for a grilled cheese triangle and munched on it slowly. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam put an arm around his brother and pulled him close. “No problem.”

Sam turned the TV up, pretending not to be analyzing every movement Dean made. Castiel, on the other hand stared at Dean, watching him like a hawk. 

When Dean had finished his sandwich and drunk all his water, he hung his head. “Can I go to sleep?” he asked weakly. Dean hated the way his voice sounded, but he couldn’t help it, not today. 

“Sure,” Sam said, worry creasing his brow. “You want some help?”

“Nah, I got it,” Dean replied quietly. He stood slowly, tugged the fuzzy blanket closer around him, and disappeared around the corner. 

When Dean had gone out of the room, Sam murmured to Castiel, “Watch him on those stairs.” Castiel vanished, and Sam took the plate and the glass back to the kitchen. He made himself slow down as he cleaned. Dean was going to bed; there was nothing for Sam to do for Dean. Dean just wanted to rest. 

Sam’s stomach grumbled again, and he realized in all the worrying about Dean, he’d forgotten to make anything for himself. He’d already cleaned up too much of the pans from the grilled cheese, and he didn’t want to get it all out again. Castiel wouldn’t eat, so the choice was up to Sam. He wound up settling for some frozen macaroni and a slice of cold pizza. Not the most nutritious, but it was comforting when he was worried like this. 

The macaroni took six total minutes in the microwave, and by the time it was done cooking and Sam had eaten about half of his meal, the angel appeared back downstairs. 

“Dean is asleep,” he said in his scratchy voice. “He said he feels “fuzzy,” but he fell asleep quickly. I put a pleasant dream in his head.”

“Good. Thanks, Cas.” Sam sighed, tired. “It’s hard when he’s like this.”

“He seems alright, actually. I was expecting worse.”

“It’s not so much the symptoms as the lack of… well, the lack of Dean. He would never be like this voluntarily, you know?”

“Not many people would,” Castiel agreed. “You are doing a good job with him. And he loves you very much.”

“He loves you very much, too.” Sam said. He smiled then, the first time Castiel had seem him smile in all the time he’d been there. But then Sam’s face fell. “I just feel so useless. I don’t know what to do half the time, just make it up as I go and pretend I’m confident. Dean doesn’t even want me around, he just wants to be alone. It’s hard.”

“You’re not alone now,” Castiel said, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I will remain here until he is well again.” 

Sam gave a sad laugh. “It’s gonna be a while. This isn’t a stomach bug. It’s gonna be weeks. Months, maybe. This is a bad day, yeah, but his mood won’t get too much better. He just won’t be completely shut down like he is now.”

“It’s alright,” Castiel said. “He is my charge. Our missions come first, and he is mine. You are mine, now, as well. And you both need me, so I will stay.”

Sam nodded for a while, long enough to make Castiel confused. Then he stopped and looked down at his hands. “Thanks, Cas.” 

Even though the angel was standing at Sam’s side, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders. Sam brought an arm up and wrapped his hand around Castiel’s forearm. 

“Thanks for sticking around. Means a lot.”

“It is my pleasure, Sam.”

Castiel let go and sat with Sam while he finished his food. They made small talk, and then Castiel zapped all the mess away, which still made Sam smile. Sam and Dean had a long winter ahead of them, but this year, they wouldn’t be alone.


End file.
